Giorgia’s feet dangled over the water as she sat on the warm stone-path near one of the many canals. Out on the water were tiny little boats carrying, for the most part, human passengers. She could smell the salt in the air as wind blew and pushed her hair around violently. She had to grab hold of her sketchbook tightly so the pages wouldn’t rip out. Once the wind had passed, she relaxed again and picked a new subject.
Drawing had become a sort of therapy for her. It was hard being in the fae slums all the time, and so she used what little magic she had to disguise her eyes and then she hid her pointed ears behind her hair, and ventured out into the streets of Madrenice. She tried to do this as often as she could. Sketching was a way to escape.
A man walked along the canal, his head held high, and seemed to be lost in thought. He had a gray beard, gray hair, and dressed mostly in all black, but what stuck out most was the golden pendant he wore around his neck. Giorgia recognized it as a symbol from the human’s church.
She noticed how the evening sky created shadows across his face so she started her sketch. The man made an easy subject because after a few minutes, he stopped near the canal and started people watching, just like her.
She couldn’t help but think there was something a little odd about him, but she didn’t feel afraid or worried. The man had a kind looking face, and though, in her experience, humans could be terribly rude to people like her, especially the religious type, she had a feeling this man was different than the rest.
Lost in thought, and in her drawing, Giorgia startled when a soft voice broke the quiet air.
“What are you doing?”
She looked up, and there the man stood, towering over her, but smiling.
Before showing him her sketchbook, she hesitated. Often times in school, she would sit to herself at lunch, and occasionally she would sketch the cafeteria chairs, the tables, and sometimes the people. For whatever reason, people always got really defensive if she drew them. Maybe they thought she was memorizing their faces so she could do some weird half-fae-half-human spell on them. She couldn’t, but they never seemed to care to listen. She’d never been met with kindness when she showed someone her drawings--well, besides her parents--so when the man tilted his head towards the sketchbook, implying he wanted to see, she hesitated. But, again, something about him made her trust him.
Giorgia turned her sketchbook around and revealed her portrait to him. Though she’d only been able to draw him for a few minutes, she thought she’d done a decent job of capturing the lighting. In her sketch, the man stood at the edge of the canal, and in the background, people walked by, but she’d drawn them only as abstract shapes. The moon was rising and the pale light of it cast deep shadows on the stone paths surrounding the man. His face, in full light of the moon, was shadow-less. She wished he would go back and stand where he’d been so she could finish her drawing. She’d been so wrapped up in critiquing her own work that she hadn’t even heard the man say something to her.
“Sorry?”
“It’s beautiful,” he repeated. “You are very talented. Do you draw for a living?”
“No,” was all she said for a moment. She opened her mouth to speak again, but then she cut herself off. The man seemed to wait for her to collect her thoughts, and he seemed to be listening very intently. “I’m just a student. I go to one of the schools in the Fae slums.” The man eyes widen, looking surprised, but he nodded. She could feel his eyes searching her face for any clue of being of fae descent, so she tucked her hair behind one of her ears so he could see, and she let her eyes fade to the natural bright yellow-green. The startling color ran in her family. “I took one of the boats out here so I could practice.”
She still sat on the edge of the canal, and by now, the man had crouched down next to her. She almost pointed out that his clothes were getting wet from a small puddle, but she figured he must already know.
Instead of commenting on her heritage like she’d expected him to, he pointed to another drawing in her sketchbook and cocked his head. “Is that the prison?”
The drawing was a few hours old. Earlier in the day, she’d been at school, and her teacher had spent a few minutes going over the geography of the city. The prison, though far away, made Giorgia’s skin crawl, but she’d channeled that fear into a drawing. She used charcoal to create the harsh lines and dark stone walls.
“Were you there?” the man asked; she could hear the concern in his voice.
“No, of course not. I was just practicing based on a picture.”
He sighed heavily. “Well done, and I’m glad you didn’t have to see that place in person.” She wasn’t sure how to respond to that. She considered saying something in return, but then she noticed that something else caught his eye. “And this? What sort of drawing is this of?” he asked.
She followed his eyes to one she’d done a few days before. In the bottom corner was a hasty sketch of some sort of armor she’d seen advertised at the Military Recruitment Office. She’d been passing by the other day, as she searched for a place to sit and draw. She had no idea what the armor was or what special things it could do, but she’d thought the line-work and design was intriguing so, even though it was only from memory, she’d tried her best. “It’s some sort of military thing. They had posters for it in the windows of the recruitment office. Something about new tech for the soldiers.” She felt self-conscious about that drawing in particular. She hadn’t been much time on it so it was messy at best.
“Interesting,” he responded. “I’ll have to see these posters for myself.”
Another strong breeze blew through the narrow streets. Giorgia held tight to her sketchbook and the man shielded his face away from the gust. “That must be my cue,” he said solemnly.
She tilted her head. “What do you mean?”
“I like to the think the Great Craftsman has ways to communicate with us, and I believe that must be him calling me back to the Cattedrale.” Then he turned to her, his eyes shining with excitement. “Would you be interested in hearing about the Church? Or perhaps you’re already involved.”
Politely, she shook her head, feeling a little confused. Had he only approached her so he could convert her? And he knew he was at least half fae. Did he really think someone like her would be interested in the human’s religion? “No, not interested.”
“Oh, are you positive? There’s so much the Great Craftsman can offer us—can offer you. Especially someone in your situation. I confess, I had already seen your pointed ears earlier when the wind blew, and I thought maybe if I could—”
She scowled. “You need a personality chip or something, mister.”
His brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”
“I already told you I’m not interested.”
Frowning, the man stood, and readjusted his spine. “My apologies. Sometimes…” He paused. “I am a very devout man. I only want to spread the word. People aren’t as faithful as they once were. When I was younger, people followed the rules. Interspecies mixing was unheard of, and now they’re half a dozen cases a year. And—“
She lifted a hand to silence him and surprisingly he obliged. “And what? You thought if you could convert me to your dumb religion you could change who I am? You can’t pray away the fact that I’m half-fae, half-human.”
“I…”
Uninterested in anything else he might say to her, Giorgia collected her sketchbook and her pencils and started walking back home.
Drawing had become a sort of therapy for her. It was hard being in the fae slums all the time, and so she used what little magic she had to disguise her eyes and then she hid her pointed ears behind her hair, and ventured out into the streets of Madrenice. She tried to do this as often as she could. Sketching was a way to escape.
A man walked along the canal, his head held high, and seemed to be lost in thought. He had a gray beard, gray hair, and dressed mostly in all black, but what stuck out most was the golden pendant he wore around his neck. Giorgia recognized it as a symbol from the human’s church.
She noticed how the evening sky created shadows across his face so she started her sketch. The man made an easy subject because after a few minutes, he stopped near the canal and started people watching, just like her.
She couldn’t help but think there was something a little odd about him, but she didn’t feel afraid or worried. The man had a kind looking face, and though, in her experience, humans could be terribly rude to people like her, especially the religious type, she had a feeling this man was different than the rest.
Lost in thought, and in her drawing, Giorgia startled when a soft voice broke the quiet air.
“What are you doing?”
She looked up, and there the man stood, towering over her, but smiling.
Before showing him her sketchbook, she hesitated. Often times in school, she would sit to herself at lunch, and occasionally she would sketch the cafeteria chairs, the tables, and sometimes the people. For whatever reason, people always got really defensive if she drew them. Maybe they thought she was memorizing their faces so she could do some weird half-fae-half-human spell on them. She couldn’t, but they never seemed to care to listen. She’d never been met with kindness when she showed someone her drawings--well, besides her parents--so when the man tilted his head towards the sketchbook, implying he wanted to see, she hesitated. But, again, something about him made her trust him.
Giorgia turned her sketchbook around and revealed her portrait to him. Though she’d only been able to draw him for a few minutes, she thought she’d done a decent job of capturing the lighting. In her sketch, the man stood at the edge of the canal, and in the background, people walked by, but she’d drawn them only as abstract shapes. The moon was rising and the pale light of it cast deep shadows on the stone paths surrounding the man. His face, in full light of the moon, was shadow-less. She wished he would go back and stand where he’d been so she could finish her drawing.
She’d been so wrapped up in critiquing her own work that she hadn’t even heard the man say something to her.
“Sorry?”
“It’s beautiful,” he repeated. “You are very talented. Do you draw for a living?”
“No,” was all she said for a moment. She opened her mouth to speak again, but then she cut herself off. The man seemed to wait for her to collect her thoughts, and he seemed to be listening very intently. “I’m just a student. I go to one of the schools in the Fae slums.” The man eyes widen, looking surprised, but he nodded. She could feel his eyes searching her face for any clue of being of fae descent, so she tucked her hair behind one of her ears so he could see, and she let her eyes fade to the natural bright yellow-green. The startling color ran in her family. “I took one of the boats out here so I could practice.”
She still sat on the edge of the canal, and by now, the man had crouched down next to her. She almost pointed out that his clothes were getting wet from a small puddle, but she figured he must already know.
Instead of commenting on her heritage like she’d expected him to, he pointed to another drawing in her sketchbook and cocked his head. “Is that the prison?”
The drawing was a few hours old. Earlier in the day, she’d been at school, and her teacher had spent a few minutes going over the geography of the city. The prison, though far away, made Giorgia’s skin crawl, but she’d channeled that fear into a drawing. She used charcoal to create the harsh lines and dark stone walls.
“Were you there?” the man asked; she could hear the concern in his voice.
“No, of course not. I was just practicing based on a picture.”
He sighed heavily. “Well done, and I’m glad you didn’t have to see that place in person.” She wasn’t sure how to respond to that. She considered saying something in return, but then she noticed that something else caught his eye. “And this? What sort of drawing is this of?” he asked.
She followed his eyes to one she’d done a few days before. In the bottom corner was a hasty sketch of some sort of armor she’d seen advertised at the Military Recruitment Office. She’d been passing by the other day, as she searched for a place to sit and draw. She had no idea what the armor was or what special things it could do, but she’d thought the line-work and design was intriguing so, even though it was only from memory, she’d tried her best.
“It’s some sort of military thing. They had posters for it in the windows of the recruitment office. Something about new tech for the soldiers.” She felt self-conscious about that drawing in particular. She hadn’t been much time on it so it was messy at best.
“Interesting,” he responded. “I’ll have to see these posters for myself.”
Another strong breeze blew through the narrow streets. Giorgia held tight to her sketchbook and the man shielded his face away from the gust.
“That must be my cue,” he said solemnly.
She tilted her head. “What do you mean?”
“I like to the think the Great Craftsman has ways to communicate with us, and I believe that must be him calling me back to the Cattedrale.” Then he turned to her, his eyes shining with excitement. “Would you be interested in hearing about the Church? Or perhaps you’re already involved.”
Politely, she shook her head, feeling a little confused. Had he only approached her so he could convert her? And he knew he was at least half fae. Did he really think someone like her would be interested in the human’s religion? “No, not interested.”
“Oh, are you positive? There’s so much the Great Craftsman can offer us—can offer you. Especially someone in your situation. I confess, I had already seen your pointed ears earlier when the wind blew, and I thought maybe if I could—”
She scowled. “You need a personality chip or something, mister.”
His brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”
“I already told you I’m not interested.”
Frowning, the man stood, and readjusted his spine. “My apologies. Sometimes…” He paused. “I am a very devout man. I only want to spread the word. People aren’t as faithful as they once were. When I was younger, people followed the rules. Interspecies mixing was unheard of, and now they’re half a dozen cases a year. And—“
She lifted a hand to silence him and surprisingly he obliged. “And what? You thought if you could convert me to your dumb religion you could change who I am? You can’t pray away the fact that I’m half-fae, half-human.”
“I…”
Uninterested in anything else he might say to her, Giorgia collected her sketchbook and her pencils and started walking back home.